


I Love You Like Pancakes

by misaffection



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-06
Updated: 2011-02-06
Packaged: 2017-10-15 11:14:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/160252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misaffection/pseuds/misaffection
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The start of a beautiful friendship... or something more?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tit For Tat

**Author's Note:**

> Nine fic series written for [scifiland](http://community.livejournal.com/scifiland/)'s multimedia bingo challenge

Sam runs a finger along the edge of the Ancient device and wonders offhand why so many of them are round. This particular one stands on a small column of white stone and is carved from the same. From a few steps back it looks rather like a large mushroom.

She has no idea what it's supposed to do.

Looking around, she catches the amused expression on Baal's face. Oh great, that's all she needs: a self-satisfied know-it-all just waiting on her to mess this up. She rolls her eyes and turns her attention back to the array of buttons.

There's three rings, surrounding a central dome that looks like it might be crystal. The inner ring is yellow, the middle one turquoise and the last is red. Each bears a black symbols that is not Ancient or Asgard or anything else she knows.

She looks at her pad, taking another reading, then hovers a finger over a turquoise button.

“Are you sure you want to do that?” Baal asks.

No, she's not. What she wants to do is break something over his head. She gives him a tight smile.

“I know what I'm doing.”

He chuckles. She squares her shoulders and presses the button.

It lights up, then fades. Other than that, nothing happens.

It's a bit of a relief, because at least she's not blown to pieces, but she can sense the smirk on Baal's face. Damn him. If he knows so much, then why the hell can't he help? She knows the answer to that. He wants her to ask. Yet, well it'll be a cold day in hell before she does that.

She checks the pad again and presses a second button, this time yellow. It lights up. Stays lit. Deep with the mushroom, a hum resonates. Static dances up her arms, making the hairs stand on end.

“I'm not sure that you do,” Baal says. She glares at him and presses another yellow button.

The crystal dome flares brightly, blinding her. When the light dims, the room has changed. She wheels round. Cam, Daniel and Teal'c are gone. It's just her and Baal, probably because he was close to the device so he could annoy her. Serves him right, she thinks even as she tries to figure out what has happened.

“I believe,” Baal says in a maddeningly smug tone, “That I told you so.”

Sam glares at him. “That is not helpful.”

“Did you not say that my assistance was unnecessary?”

He looks so smug, so full of himself, that she wants to throttle him.

“No, that's not what I said.” She picks up the pad. The readings make no sense, so she puts it back down again. “What I _did_ say was that I would rather have needles shoved under my fingernails than have your... help.”

Baal sits on the edge of the dais, back against the wall and one leg drawn in. He rests an arm on his knee and lets his head drop. Sam rolls her eyes as he closes his.

“Fine,” he drawls and makes a show of yawning. “Let me know when you're done.”

She's going to do something alright... But then she catches herself. Looks at him, eyes narrowed. And she smiles.

“I don't think you had any more idea than I did,” she says, turning her back and returning to the device. “You're all mouth.”

“Believe what you wish.”

“You know what I think? I think that if you were so much smarter than me, you'd have told me just to rub it in. That you haven't suggests your smarts are lacking.”

“I beg your pardon?”

His tone has lost the bored pretence and taken on real annoyance. Sam grins: this is too easy. Hook baited, she casts the line.

“Come on, like you've ever been reticent about showing me just how inferior I am. The only reason you aren't is because you can't.”

She dares a glance over her shoulder. The casual pose is gone and he stares at her, danger in his eyes. She arches an eyebrow at him.

“You would be wise not to speak to me thus.” His voice carries the duel tone of the symbiote. “I tolerate your insolence to a point, but do not push it.”

Sam laughs. “Like that frightens me. Whatchya going to do, Baal, glow me to death?” And reel. “Plus if you kill me, you'll have to figure this all on your own and that might take some time.”

There is a low growl and the scrape of boot on stone. Her heart hammers as his footsteps close, but she tries not to tense, not to give her nervousness away. She scrolls the screen of the pad upwards and pretends that she doesn't notice him glowering at her.

“I should kill you where you stand,” he says, but what he does is snatch the pad from her hands. She folds her arms and looks at him. His attention is on the pad. “What is this? You couldn't solve a crossword with these calculations.”

He goes on, but he is working now. She smirks and wanders around the device, humming to herself. After a moment, his stream of insults and complaints trails off.

“Why are you humming?” he asks, tone an accusation.

She looks up, all innocence. “I was?”

His eyes narrow. “You were.”

“Really?” She shrugs and dusts off a perfectly clean spot of the device. “How odd.”

She maintains her air of innocence as he stares at her. Tries not to grin as his eyes widen a little. Yeah, she thinks and gives in. So who is smarter than who?

“You manipulated me.” Baal is clearly affronted. “That's not fair!

Sam laughs outright. “I know, it's got to be awful being outdone by a mere Tau'ri female, but you're such a bad influence. Now it's bitten you in the ass.”

He shakes his head, annoyance vying with wry amusement. “Clearly,” he says finally. He holds out the pad. “Here, I believe it makes more sense now.”

Going over, she scans the new, improved program. She has to admit he's good, but not out loud. She nods and looks back at the device.

“It's a transporter.” She glances around the room. It's nothing that exciting really, just a few weird statues and painted walls. “From room to room, because... I don't know, doors were beneath them?”

“I believe we travelled several levels upwards.”

“So it's an elevator?”

“And security device.” Baal eyes the nearest statue. “To protect the... art.”

“I think it protects itself,” she remarks with a grimace. Then shakes herself. “So much for a weapons repository.”

“I don't know,” he says, still engrossed with the statue. It's black and has what looks like a raven's head. The body is nothing Sam recognises and is glad about that. Baal continues, “Is sheer ugliness a weapon?”

“Not one we can harness.”

“That is quite honestly the most disgusting thing I've ever seen. And I include Anubis in that.”

Sam giggles, then feels a flood of shock as she realises they've gone a whole two minutes without arguing. Hell, they're even agreeing on the questionable art.

She stares at him. He tilts his head and smirks. For some reason she has no idea about, her cheeks heat. His grin widens.

Her lips twitch and she bites the bottom one, looks away. The worse thing is, she's enjoyed that brief moment of harmony. Baal will say exactly what's on his mind, without caring about proprieties or sensibilities. It's rather refreshing.

Still...

“Okay, Brainiac, how do we send the elevator back down?”

“Here.” He rejoins her and points at a red button. “That, then that and those two there.”

She presses the sequence and he adds a forth. The crystal dome glows again and a second later, they are back where they started.

Cameron looks relieved and at Baal suspiciously. “what did he do?”

“Nothing, it was my fault.” As much as she hates admitting that, especially where Baal can hear her, she's not prepared to let him take the rap for her mistake. “He got us back.”

“Right.” He looks from her to Baal and back again. “You okay?”

“I'm fine, but there's nothing here. It's... like an art gallery.”

“In the loosest sense of that term,” Baal adds. She grins at him, then coughs again and looks at Cam, who is frowning at them both.

“It's a bust, I'm afraid.”

“Now that,” Baal says as he saunters past. “Would have been considerably more interesting.” He flashes her a suggestive look. “And far less ugly.”

She blushes again. Cam's eyes go wide as he does another double take. Oh no. Oh, he can't think that...

But Baal looks even more smug than usual and starts humming and crap. She glares at him, but there's nothing she can say without digging herself in further. Denials will only serve his purpose more, whatever that purpose is.

Him and his damn games. Fine, she thinks and yanks the cables of the pad from the device crystals. He wants a battle, he's going to get a battle. She can handle him.

Maybe.


	2. Better the Devil?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baal has an offer Sam finds difficult to refuse.

“And then, he said that he hadn't done anything and-” Vala's outraged replay of her latest argument with Daniel cuts off and Sam catches the look of shock on her face. Then sees exactly what has caused her to shut up.

Her irritation at Baal lounging in her lab vies with appreciation at what he's wearing: blue jeans that cling to his long legs and a navy shirt with short sleeves that reveal his powerfully-built arms. He smiles as she hauls her gaze from the triangle of tanned skin at his neck, fully aware he's caught her staring.

“What are _you_ doing here?”

“Nice to see you too, Samantha,” he replies. His gaze flicks from her to Vala. “Qetesh.”

Sam hears the sharp intake of breath that'll no doubt be the start of a blistering tirade and decides to get in first. “Assuming this isn't a social visit, I'll ask again – what do you want?”

“Lose the fan club and I'll tell you.” He props his elbows on the armrests and steeples his fingers. “And if she goes tattling on my arrival, you'll never know.”

Sam stares at him for a moment and then turns to Vala. “I'll be okay,” she tells her, hoping that assumption is correct. “As much as I hate playing his little games, it might be best to do as he says. He'll only be _completely_ insufferable otherwise.”

Vala looks from her to him, then back. “You sure? I know what he's like.”

She does, too. She knows if he wanted to hurt her, he'd have done so already. “Yeah.”

There's another few nervous glances before Vala leaves. Sam suspects she'll go straight to Daniel, wonders if that will negate the loose treaty she's secured with Baal.

“Close the door,” he says, tone final. She sighs and does so, then turns and leans against it, glaring at him.

“This had better be good,” she warns him.

Baal stretches and slips a hand into the left front pocket of his jeans. Sam tries not to notice the interesting bulge hiding behind the zipper, frowns as he tugs a small cylinder out.

“What's that?”

“Why I'm here,” he answers and tosses it over.

She catches it easily, turns it over in her hand. It's as long as her palm and smooth silver. There's no marks, no indication of what it's for. She frowns at it and then at him. And the room goes white.

It dawns on her that she should have known better. She wheels to get her bearings, which happen to be an Al'kesh, and then turns back to him.

“You're unbelievable!” she rants. “Don't you think they'll notice I'm missing?”

He shrugs. “You won't be gone that long, come.”

She watches him walk off, confident that she'll follow him. Of course if she wants to know what the hell is going on, she'll have to. She grinds her teeth, fists her hands, and stalks after him.

After a minute, she realises that the ship seems to be missing a few things. Like Jaffa.

“Where are your guards?” she asks him.

“What guards?”

She blinks at his back. “You're on your own?”

“Ah, the deductive abilities of the Tau'ri female.” He glances over his shoulder and rolls his eyes. “I'm often taken aback your species figured the way of the primordial soup in the first place.”

“ _I'm_ surprised you don't take credit for our creation.”

“Please, I can do much better than that.”

She snorts, somewhere between annoyed and amused. He is impossible and she should know better than try playing a game of words with him.

He leads her into a lab not unlike her own. Her steps slow at the sight of an Ancient drone. The very last thing she needs is him finding Atlantis.

“Baal,” she says warningly, eyes on the weapon.

“What? Oh, that. That's not what we're here for.” He picks up a small metal ball and holds it out on his palm. She reaches out, curious, but he closes his fingers around it. “Ah, no. That's not a good idea.”

“What is it?”

“It's a bomb.”

She takes an involuntary step back. “Is it... live?”

“Not unless you touch it, no. Though it's possible you have enough naquadah in your blood to counter your human signature.”

Tearing her eyes off it, she looks him in the eye. “And this is your handiwork, is it?”

“Sort of. I designed the original. This one was... ah, adapted to its current use by Anubis. I was most disgruntled to discover quite a stash.” His eyebrows drew together and he glowered at the orb. “And to discover he had dealt with a clone in order to distribute them on Earth.”

Horror washes through her. “H-how many?”

He looks up, arching an eyebrow. “Isn't one enough?”

“Well yes, but...”

“Eleven, all recovered.”

She rubs her forehead. “So what's the threat?”

“To Earth? Nothing, or at least I believe not.” He smirks. “I might not have accounted for every one, though.”

Yeah, like _that's_ possible. She ignores his baiting and goes for the main point. “Then why show it me?”

“Why show you a device that can be adapted to explode when its touched by a specific species?” He shrugs. “Oh, I've _no_ idea what you could achieve with such technology.”

The Ori. Hope flares. “Could you adapt that to a Prior?”

“Not without DNA.”

“We have Prior DNA,” she says without thinking. Then startles a look at him. “You're a bastard, you know that right?”

He grins at her, clearly unrepentant. “I have a deal for you, Samantha. If you secure me the code, I will give you the schematics for the device. Just think about it: the perfect way to destroy the Ori with minimal human costs. It's better than anything you have right now.”

He's right and he knows it. She licks her lips.

“What's in it for you?”

“Other than ridding my galaxy of the usurpers? I have no idea.”

“ _Your_ galaxy?” She laughs at him. “I see not even losing your Jaffa can ruin your delusions of grandeur.”

He smirks at her. “Who said I'd lost anything?”

Oh, the manipulative, arrogant- She catches herself at his chuckle. No doubt he saw the anger on her face and was amused. She glares at him.

“So if I help you do this, you'll be free to regain power? I'm not sure that's much of an incentive, Baal.”

“Would you rather a benevolent God who is quite happy to let you continue your pathetic existence or to kneel before the Ori?” He steps closer, the bomb in one hand. The other he lifts and strokes the knuckles over her cheek. “Doctor Jackson's report on their torture makes interesting reading, don't you think? Or how about Qetesh's recollection of being burnt alive?”

Sam shudders and jerks away from his touch. “Bastard,” she repeats, her voice a rough whisper. Damn him, damn him, damn him.

He shrugs his eyebrows and smirks knowingly. She doesn't have a choice. At least he is the devil she knows.

“Alright,” she sighs and sags, defeated. “You have a deal.”

“Of course I do.” He puts the bomb back on the bench and she lets out a breath of relief. He chuckles at that and then moves closer. “Now that unpleasantness is dealt with, perhaps we can move on to something more enjoyable.”

She looks up, mouth dry at his proximity. _Don't ask_ , she thinks as he lifts a hand to her cheek. Her skin prickles at his touch. _For God's sake, Sam, don't give him that opportunity_.

“You-” Her voice catches. She tries again. “You _have_ to be joking.”

“Do I?” He leans closer and she puts her hands on his chest. Not that that will stop him, but it's nice to pretend. “Come now, Samantha, you cannot deny that you're just a little bit curious.”

“Curiosity killed the cat,” she murmurs.

“Ah, but I said that I would not harm you. I have, you have to admit, kept to that so far.” He smiles and a hand closes on her hip. Her pulse jumps. “And you might even like it.”

She's rather afraid that she will, but she doesn't say that. From the way he smirks, he's guessed at her thoughts anyway.

“I-” She starts, but then he pulls her sharply and _God_ , but he can kiss.

Her hands slid up and over his shoulders, clutching at the collar of his shirt as he teases her lips apart. The kiss is neither overly assertive or passive, just confident and very, very thorough. His tongue sweeps hers and his lips move against her in a motion that makes her weak at the knees.

He breaks away, breathless. She has no idea where she is or what day of the week it is. Just stares into his brown eyes, utterly wordless.

His lips quirk into an uneven grin. “Well, I liked it.”

Sam bites her lip. Her whole body tingles and there's a burning heat between her legs. She knows she should let go of him, but can't quite co-ordinate herself to do so.

“I...”

“Are you unsure?” His eyes gleam. “Because I believe the best way to be sure of an experiment is to repeat it.”

The second is hungrier and his hands move over her, slid under her top. She shudders as flesh meets flesh. Desire flares and she moans into his mouth.

He pulls away with a chuckle. “Oh, now that _is_ interesting,” he murmurs and licks his lips. “Don't you agree?”

Sam stares into his eyes. She knows that she shouldn't, that she should shove him away and tell him to get lost. Instead, she tells him to shut up and drags his head down again.

After a two further repeats, Sam is positive he's very good at kissing. He's attentive and obviously well practised. She's also positive that she's getting herself into something that's not just wrong on multiple counts, but is also very dangerous.

She's trying to ignore the thrill that gives her.

“I'm certainly seeing your point of view on the matter,” she tells him and he grins. “What now?”

His eyes light up and she laughs, smacks him on the shoulder.

“Not in this lifetime,” she says, but the flutter in her stomach tells her that's a ridiculous statement.

Baal chuckles. “Fortunately for you, I can wait several. You'll come around to my way of thinking eventually.”

The smug, self-assured- She yanks out of his arms, only to hear him chuckle again. Oh, God but she is damned already. Still, she manages to glare at him and say, “Don't hold your breath.”

He smirks and shrugs a shoulder. “Keep that beaming device, you'll have need of it.”

By which he means he'll be able to get her as and when he requires. She shivers and turns to the bench and its array of probably stolen technology.

“You know, the guys at Area 51 would sell their mothers for a look at some of this stuff.”

“Accommodate me and I could return the favour,” he replies. She jolts and flings him an incredulous look.

“You mean...” She can't believe it. His expression is one of unrepentant smugness. “I'm going to pretend you didn't just say that,” she says. “That's disgusting.”

“I thought it a fair exchange.”

“That's because you have absolutely no scruples. Anyone with any sense, any amount of decency wouldn't have thought it, never mind actually make the... offer.”

He eyes her for a moment, then licks his lips slowly. She shudders and clamps down on the groan that threatens. He grins.

“I'm as talented with other parts of my body, not just my mouth.” He waggles his eyebrows. “Just so you know.”

Sam discovers it's possible to be outraged and aroused at the same time. She finds herself unable to say anything, which only serves to make his expression grow even more smug.

Folding her arms, she asks, “Do you want that sample or not?”

He chuckles again and then the room goes white. She looks around her own lab, which is disappointingly lacking a Goa'uld.

That thought, and the realisation to what she's agreed to, makes her rake frustrated hands through her hair.

“Oh, crap.”


	3. Aren't We A Pair?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Baal make a treaty with a difference.

If Sam could have gotten away without telling Landry what was going on, she would have. Bringing up the fact their erstwhile System Lord has made a habit of turning up where he's not wanted results in the general reacting exactly how she feared and it takes her ten minutes to calm him down enough to present a plan she was sure sounded more sane on Baal's Al'kesh.

“He wants to _what_?” Landry demands in a voice that can probably heard from space.

“Just think about it,” she says. “We want to get rid of the Ori, but we don't want to take out hundreds of people doing it. This is... like the symbiote poison. It takes the battle right to the point we want it.”

Landry shakes his head. “Assuming we can take Baal's word on the matter.”

“He has as much at risk,” Sam points out. “I think we can believe him on this.”

“Do you really think it's worth it?”

Sam hesitates. Of course Landry doesn't know the sort of deal she has with Baal, besides supplying him with the DNA code he needs. She chooses not to bring the other part up.

“I hope so, sir.”

He breathes out through his nose. “Very well. I suppose this way we'll see if the treaty is worth the paper it's written on. But I do not trust him and you shouldn't either.”

She smiles, warmed at his concern. “I'll be careful, sir.”

“Go on, then. Dismissed.”

Sam salutes and immediately heads to the infirmary. Caroline is waiting, clearly brought abreast of developments, and she has a strip of paper in one hand.

“Is this all he needs?” she asks.

“That's what he said.”

She tries to ignore the worried look Caroline gives her. As if isn't not like she's heard the option of virtually everyone in the SGC about Baal and what she's doing. If she sees one more disappointed expression, she's going to shoot someone. Probably him, for getting her in this situation.

Giving Caroline a tight smile, she says, “Well, I'd better get to it.”

As far as Sam's aware, the silver tube nestled in her top drawer is nothing more than a locator chip in fancy packaging. It occurs to her that if that is so, then she could just wrap the printout around it and have nothing to do with Baal beyond that. But while he's claimed that he won't hurt her, she doubts he'll keep such a promise if she pisses him off.

She sighs and picks up the tube. There has to be another element, because just seconds later her stomach drops into her toes as an Asgard beam pulls her aboard his ship.

The outfit of brown leather trousers and cream sweater that he wears does nothing to settle her racing heart. Then again, he could probably wear a sack and still look good. She tries not to imagine what he's like naked.

Looking round, she sees that he's beamed her straight into his lab and that he barely gives her a glance before asking, “You have it?”

Apparently they're not going for small talk. Sam shrugs and hands over the paper. “How long will it take?”

“Not long.” He glances over the printed information and then taps at a keyboard quickly. “My only consideration is how long to set the fuse. An immediate denotation will only serve to alert them, unless I can manage wide-spread delivery.”

Sam leans on the bench and watches the intricate coding scroll up the screen. She understands less than half, but even that is enough to leave her awed. Chewing her lip as she contemplates the level of his intelligence and the problem at hand, she comes up with a possible solution.

“Is there a way of connecting them together? Perhaps if we added a locator chip, then track them until they're in place, then detonate them all at once.”

“That... could work.” Baal thumbs his bottom lip and then looks at her with a smile. “My genius is rubbing off on you.”

“You wish,” she retorts.

“I do,” he says with a suggestive lift of his eyebrows. Her cheeks heat and he chuckles. “Wishes shall have to wait, though. I really must finish the adaptations to the bomb coding.”

Sam finds a chair and sits down to watch, since there's nothing she can do but that. If she's honest with herself, she'd rather watch him work anyway – there's an intent concentration to his expression and his fingers move over the keyboard with speed and confidence. This is the side of him she likes, the one she can work with. She just wishes it was present more often.

Her eyes shift to his hair. It's cut shorter than last time, which makes the grey more noticeable. The colour reminds her of his age, though it doesn't make him look older. It doesn't make him look distinguished either, she thinks and coughs to hide a snort of laughter.

If he notices her outburst, he ignores it. However he's so wrapped up in his work, Sam doubts he heard her. She smiles, reminded very much of herself. They do have some things in common, after all.

Suddenly he sits back and rolls his shoulders. “There,” he sighs. “That should do it.”

Sam gets up and moves closer to peer at the screen. Her hands come to rest on his shoulders and there is palpable tension under her palms. She looks down.

“What's up?”

“I am unsure if it will work.”

The confession is grudging and a muscle twitches under her hand. She tightens her grip and digs her thumbs into the knots either side of his spine. Her reward is a deep, throaty groan.

“I thought that you were sure.” She tries to keep censure from her tone as she continues to rub at his tense muscles. “Otherwise, what was the point in my bringing you the code?”

“The theory is sound,” he replies. “However until it's put into practice...” He shrugs, a powerful roll of his shoulders that makes her shiver. “There is _no_ margin for error.”

She sighs. “No, I guess not. How are you planning on distributing them?”

Baal reaches out and clicks a button on his laptop. The screen changes to a star map, which several planets marked out in the same designations the SGC uses. Realising this information was part of what he swindled from her while under duress, her hands go still.

“You can be sure that I have not used this other than to further my plans against the Ori,” he says, clearly guessing the reason for her sudden stillness. “And I kept my oath then.”

“So you did.”

He had barely laid a finger of her. Just threatened every person she cared about. She pulls her hands back, ignoring the itch that makes her want to continue. Baal gives a hard-done-by sigh and swivels the chair so he's facing her.

“So what's the matter now?”

She shakes her head, not wanting to discuss this never mind argue about it. He grabs her wrists. She tries to pull away, but his grip is like iron, the expression on his face determined.

“Let me go,” she says. “Stop-”

He yanks her forward. Losing her balance, she has no choice but catch herself against him. She ends up in his lap, one wrist freed so he can thread fingers into her hair.

This close to him, the only thing she can fight for is to breathe. He arches an eyebrow and thumbs her ear. The grip around her left wrist loosens and he slides his hand up her arm. His eyes never leave hers.

“You're angry with me,” he surmises, quite rightly too. “This is about what I stole from you.”

She wants to look away, but the hand in her hair prevents her unless she wants to cause herself some pain. He trails fingers up and down her arm, raising gooseflesh in its path and causing her blood to fizz. It's highly distracting and she struggles to hold onto the anger he's accused her of feeling.

“You think?” It doesn't snap as she wanted it to, but instead is closer to a whisper. Her eyes are on his lips and her body is reacting to the presence of his. “Get off me.”

“Technically, _you're_ on me,” he says. A smile flickers over his lips and his eyes sparkle with amusement. “I was rather enjoying your ministrations, before you got sulky.”

“Sulky?” Her anger relights and she tries to push up from him. “And yes, this is about then. About you manipulating me and then threatening my friends. About killing air force personnel.”

“Oh, and none of the clones were executed by your people?” His eyes flare and narrow. The hand on her hip tightens to be point of painfulness. “Or is that different because they were copies of me?”

She swallows and chooses not to answer that question. Her eyes go back to the screen and she considers his plan now with what he'd told her then.

“If you'd found Merlin's weapon, would you have really wiped out the galaxy?” Dropping her gaze, she meets his eyes. The light dies and he smiles again. “You could have altered that to take out the Priors.”

He leans back, still smiling that shit-eating grin of self-satisfaction. Sam shakes her head.

“Then why-”

“Didn't I tell you that?” He gives a short laugh. “Would you have believed me, Samantha?”

Point. She sighs. “No.”

He looses his tight grasp and strokes her hip, something close to apology in his eyes. “No, you wouldn't have, so I didn't waste my breath. I would never have harmed the hostages, because negotiation wasn't my escape route. Which you know.”

It sounds utterly reasonable and Sam supposes that from his point of view, it is. She sighs and relaxes against him, her emotions in turmoil.

“What are you doing to me?” she murmurs, achingly aware she should not be this close but unable to force herself away. He uses the slightest pull on her hair to tilt her head back and she meets his eyes. Licks her lips and then whispers his name. “Baal.”

The kiss is slow: light brushes of his lips that tease until she's trembling and desperate for more. She shifts closer and gasps at the hard lump that presses through their clothing. The evidence of his desire changes... something. She's not sure what, but it blazes through her and she winds her arms around his neck and gets serious.

Rough stubble grazes her chin as the kiss becomes deeper, more demanding. More desperate. His hands slid between them and she's aware of him undoing the buttons of her shirt. He hesitates as he reaches the waistband of her trousers, a pause that makes her smile against his mouth.

Sam leans back and yanks her shirt free, shrugs it off her shoulders. Baal makes a grumbling sound at the vest and she's rather in agreement: she has too much clothing on. She drags it up and over her head, then gets to kissing him again as his nimble fingers make short work of her bra clasp.

“You are beautiful,” he says and thumbs the underneath of her breasts. She smiles at the earnest compliment, warmed and surprised that he'd say such a thing. She's about to formulate a response but then he cups her breasts and all she can do moan and arch as he circles both nipples with his thumbs.

“Oh _God_.”

“Samantha.”

She's not sure if he's answering her inadvertent appeal or just saying her name. His lips work the line of her collarbone and she whimpers, burning with need. To be closer, to feel his skin against hers.

A shudder wracks her and she slides her hands down his back, to the hem of his sweater. He helps her remove it, pulling his arms out of the sleeves and then yanking it over his head. He tosses it somewhere but Sam is too busy ogling his chest to notice where.

“Oh... wow,” she says. He is gorgeous and she thinks of how she'd had him in that interrogation room only to let him go. Damn. She traces her fingers over well-defined pectorals and flat stomach, enjoying the feel of firm, warm flesh beneath her palm.

“Impressed?” he asks, voice dark with humour.

She grins at him. “Oh, very. You're gorgeous.”

“One tries one's best.” His smirk is even more smug than usual, but she can hardly blame him. “Yes,” he says suddenly, making her blink.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Yes, the rest of me is as well toned.”

Her cheeks heat. “How did you know what I was thinking?”

“It was fairly obvious from your expression.” He tilts his head and smiles wider. “Do you want to see?”

Oh God, yes she does. She wants to know if the erection pressing into her thighs is as impressive as it feels, wants to know just how well they'd fit together. However she is fairly sure there was something else that they should be doing.

“What... what about the bombs?” It's terribly hard to concentrate on anything when he's kneading her breasts like that. “Shouldn't we- _Oh_.”

His mouth closes on a nipple and every thought flies out of her head.

The room fades to grey, unimportant. All her attention is on the slow wet circles Baal draws on her hot flesh with his tongue. Moan after moan tears from her and she's breathing so hard that her chest hurts.

She drops her head back, eyes closing as pleasure engulfs her in waves. Rocking so that her aching sex presses on the knot of his erection, she gasps at the frisson of sensation. Her stomach clenches and the first delicious flutters of an orgasm tremble up her spine.

“Holy...” She is actually going to come from just his tongue on her breasts and a dry hump. The building tension is too much to take. “Oh fuck.”

“I was...” Baal gasps as she rocks again. “Thinking...”

Whatever he was thinking about seems to have escaped his grasp. He's breathing as hard as she is and his beautifully tanned skin is damp with sweat. Sam arches her back and looks down at him. His expression is faintly bewildered, but his eyes are dark with passion. He growls, a low rough sound at the back of his thought that carries the symbiotic echo and then drags her down to reclaim her mouth.

He tongues the roof, sliding against her teeth in a regular motion that can only be simulating sex. She moans and grinds down harder, wishing the barriers of their clothing away but not prepared to stop long enough to make that wish reality. Pain sparks as he tweaks her nipples, an electric jolt that jabs straight down. Heat pools between her legs, and she just... needs.... a... little...

She breaks from his lips with a cry. He groans and pinches her nipples harder. She pushes down and pleasure rips up her spine, turning her blood to fire and _God_ but it's glorious.

How long it takes her to come down off the most spectacular orgasm she's ever had, Sam has no idea. Reality reorders itself and she finds that she's collapsed in Baal's arms, utterly boneless and immobile.

His ragged breathing is out of time with hers, a rough counterpoint, and under the hand she has pressed to his chest she can feel the thundering beat of his heart. There is no sign of his usual cool, detached demeanour and it excites her that she did that to him. The ability to make a God lose control is a heady power that she could definitely get used to.

Ice slides down her spine as she realises what they've just done. She raises her head and stares at him.

“Oh.”

He blinks slowly. “Too late,” he murmurs.

She knows it is. She just doesn't know what happens now. “Yeah.”

“Regrets?”

His voice is soft, almost gentle. She wonders if he does, because even as she thinks about it...

“Yeah,” she says and kisses his lips. “I regret the lack of a bed and more naked.”

Baal blinks again and then the grin is back. “Oh really? Well, perhaps I could accommodate you later.”

The embers of her orgasm flare and Sam knows that given the choice that she'd say yes, even though it's more kinds of wrong than she can count.

“We're going to get into so much trouble.” She rolls her eyes and corrects herself. “ _I'm_ going to get into trouble. I think I just broke half a dozen regulations.”

“You are on my ship, which counts as my territory. Can't you claim diplomatic immunity or something?”

She laughs. “No. Your ship or not, I'm still... fraternising with the enemy.”

“Enemy?” His expression is comically innocent. “Me?”

“Yes, you.” She kisses him again, because she likes doing that. “Or are you claiming to be our ally again?”

“If it gets me a special relationship, most assuredly.”

Sam can't help it: she dissolves into giggles. He is absolutely ridiculous, absolutely shameless. And utterly irresistible.

“You're impossible, you know that right?” She strokes a hand over his hair. “And we really shouldn't be doing this.”

He sobers. “I know. Or rather, I know that you shouldn't. Sam, I-”

She silences him with another kiss. “My choice,” she tells him when she pulls back. “Just promise that you won't go being ridiculous on base and letting everyone know, and I'll handle the rest.”

“Are you sure?”

He looks as surprised as he sounds, which is probably about as surprised as she feels. But she's not taking it back now.

“We work well together,” she reminds him with a smile. “And I'd much rather fuck than fight.”

“Point taken.”

“So...” She leans in and nibbles at his earlobe. He shudders. “Do we have a deal?”

“I think I can abide by those terms, yes.”

Sam chuckles. All it's taken to secure the safety of Earth from Baal's manipulations is the promise to sleep with him, and she wonders why she didn't come up with this idea sooner.

“Now about those bombs,” she says. “Save the galaxy, then we can... ah, seal our deal in celebration?”

He laughs and pulls her in for a long kiss that makes her reconsider the order of things. When he releases her, he grins and says, “That, my sweet, sounds like the best plan you've ever had. Let's get it on. I mean, on with it.”

It's awful and she rolls her eyes. Ducks her head down to his shoulder and gives a soft chuckle.

She should, possibly feel guiltier about what she's doing, but if he does behave, then it's worth a little rule-breaking to get him on their side. Especially if his plan with the bombs works, which she doesn't doubt.

Whether Landry and the IOA are going to agree with her on the matter is a whole different question, but not one she needs to face yet.


	4. Hey Hey I Saved the World Today

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baal discovers one good deed does not wipe a slate clean

Baal isn't terribly surprised to arrive in the SGC and find himself at the wrong end of several rifles. He lifts his hands and eyes Colonel Mitchell with a smirk.

“Is this any way to greet an old friend?”

“Old, yes,” Mitchell replies, tone wry. “Friend? I hardly think so.”

“Not even when I have saved your lovely little planet? I'd have thought some gratitude was in order.”

The man's eyes narrow. “Tell you what, you return Colonel Carter to us and we'll show you how... uh, _grateful_ we are.”

“Samantha is currently indisposed.” Baal smirks, thinking of her naked body in his bed. “I just came by to inform you that the Ori are no longer a threat to you or to anyone else.”

The soldiers glance at each other, weapons faltering. Mitchell, however, stands stock-still, suspicion in his blue eyes.

“Really? Care to prove that?”

Baal snorts. “And exactly how am I expected to do that? If you want proof, dial your Stargate and go through to any one of the many Ori-controlled planets you have stored in your database.”

“On your word?” Mitchell laughs. “Not in this lifetime.”

“Then wait,” he says and shrugs easily. “But eventually you will learn that I am speaking the truth. Unlike SG1, my plans tend to work to their fullest, though I have kept my promise – Samantha has the blueprints to my Prior weapon.”

“Yeah, and talking of – where is she? If you've hurt her...”

“Samantha is aboard my ship, awaiting the pleasure of my company no doubt. She seems to rather enjoy it.” He grins as Mitchell's eyes widen in realisation. "As I enjoy hers."

“Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me,” Mitchell says, voice disgusted. “There's no way Sam would... Ugh, my stomach turns at the thought of it.”

“Not only would she, but she has.” Thinking about it makes him smile wider. “And very pleasurable it was, too.” He laughs at the look on Mitchell's face. “Come now, Colonel; stop being so provincial. After all, it is merely a mutually satisfactory arrangement. Samantha proved the DNA and I supplied the mechanics.”

He is referring to the bomb, though he's fully aware it sounds anything but. He doesn't rightly care. Mitchell's outraged expression is worth the misunderstanding.

The colonel sneers at him. “What did you do, brainwash her? She'd never-”

“Oh, she would. I tell you honestly that I have done _nothing_ to Samantha that she has not wanted. There has been no brainwashing or coercion of any description.” He raises his eyebrows and folds his arms. “I find such accusations extremely offensive.”

“I'm gutted for you. Really.”

Baal rolls his eyes and presses fingers against the control strapped to his arm. The air beside him flickers, then forms the hologram of Samantha. She looks suitably irritated at the interruption in her tank top and deliciously mussed hair. She looks at Mitchell for a moment, then turns to Baal.

“What have you been saying?”

He opens his eyes wide. “Nothing but the truth, my sweet,” he says and grins when she glares at him.

“I asked you one thing, Baal. Just one, and you couldn't even do that.”

“They accused me of harming you. I just begged to differ.”

“I'll harm you,” she mutters, then looks back to Mitchell. “Cam, it's true. We've taken out all the Priors. You need to move against Adria now, before she gathers more power.”

“What about you?” he asks her.

Baal returns her glance with a steady, enquiring gaze. Her lips press together and she sighs hard, looking down at the floor. He feels a small touch of guilt for pushing her into a decision, but it is mostly out of his hands.

“Right now, I can be of more help where I am,” she says, then sighs. “I'm okay, Cam. He's... we have an arrangement.”

Baal smirks at the look on Mitchell's face. “Yeah,” the man says in a disgusted tone. “So _he_ said.”

“Cam,” she sighs. “Please don't.”

“Is it true? Did you... with him?”

To her credit, Samantha pulls up straight and gives Mitchell a glare worthy of a Queen. “We worked together to eliminate the Priors, if that's what you're referring to. That's all you need to be concerned about.”

The colonel opens his mouth, but Samantha is there first. “End of, Cam.” Her expression softens. “Leave it, please.”

“Sam...” He sighs. “Just be careful.”

“There is no need for care, Colonel Mitchell,” Baal says. “I swear I will not harm a single hair on her pretty head.”

“I don't promise any such thing,” Samantha retorts and glares at him. “I told you-”

“I know, but I couldn't help myself.” He shrugs and smirks. “Is it so bad that I'm proud of you?”

She blinks and her mouth works. An attractive flush pinks her cheeks. “I suppose not,” she says finally. “Though I wish that extended... well, to more than your questionable achievements.”

“It could have been worse,” he points out.

“Yeah. I got that.” She shakes her head. “Send me back – I have work to do that doesn't include offering you an alibi.”

He bows his head and touches the control again. She vanishes. Turning back to Mitchell, he says, “I hope you are satisfied, Colonel. Please be assured I am not the villain of this piece, nor are my intentions towards the very lovely Samantha anything more than a... an acquaintance.”

The colonel grimaces. “That's more what I'm afraid of. Not hurting her includes more than just physical harm, Baal. Just remember that. Break her heart and you'll get to eat yours.”

Baal starts to smirk, then pauses and considers the man. His expression is hard and determined, and he holds his weapon with practised nonchalance. Loyalty and protectiveness, and he tilts his head in acknowledgement.

“You have my word, Colonel Mitchell. As I suspect that is not enough, I can only reiterate – go to a Ori-controlled world. Please take the evidence that you will find there as collateral.”

Mitchell gazes at him for a moment, then hitches his shoulders. “Alright, Baal, I'll bite. Landry's gonna want to collaborate this story anyhow. If that pans out, then... well, I can't speak for him. And I ain't sure what keeping Sam away is gonna do.”

“It is her decision, Colonel. You heard her yourself.”

“Yeah. Well, like I said – I'm willing to trust her enough to check things out. You're not getting more than that.”

Baal sighs. “I saved the world and this is my reward? Why do you bother?”

He doesn't wait for an answer, just hits the recall on his control, materialising in the lab on his Al'kesh. Samantha glances up from her analysis of the Ancient drone and lifts her eyebrows.

“That not go as well as you expected?”

“It went as badly as I expected,” he replies wryly and moves over to her side. He scans her face and then brushes his knuckles over her hair. “I don't know how you put up with such constant negativity and suspicion.”

“It goes better when you've not been an enemy for several years.” She captures his hand and shoves it at him. “Stop that – I'm still annoyed with you.”

“For?”

She glares. “I don't expect you came right out and told them we'd... been together, but I bet you inferred it heavily.”

“All I said was that you seemed to enjoy the pleasure of my company.” He shrugs. “And that I enjoyed yours.”

“Oh, and that's not at all obvious!” She throws her hands in the air and stalks around the table, putting some distance between them.

Baal pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fabulous,” he says irritably. “I save the world and you humans are still pissed off with me. I cannot win.”

Shaking his head in disgust, he heads for his quarters, ignoring Sam as she calls his name. He is damned if he does and damned if he does not and he is not best pleased.


	5. Coming Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Baal is hard to find, Sam gets rattled.

This isn't what Sam expected. Oh, Baal has been moody since his visit to Earth, but this? This is something else.

The bed seems very empty without him.

She's no idea where he's gone – an hour wandering the corridors of the Al'kesh has left her none-the-wiser, empty-handed. She only returned to the bedroom because she had nothing else to go on.

There's no choice but to wait him out.

But she's alone and the ship is very quiet. She huddles the covers around her, but cannot get warm. It's as if the air is stripped of his presence. She shivers and tries not to cry.

Minutes pass. Or hours; she's not sure which. She stays awake until her eyes itch, until there is a heavy weight pressing on her temples. Her throat is dry, but she hasn't sufficient energy to get up. Sleep torments her.

Pain startles her and it takes her a moment to realise she'd started to nod off and cracked her head on the wall. She doesn't need to stay awake. Doesn't want to, but neither does she want to go to sleep without him by her side.

The needfulness horrifies her.

Her watch reads just after five when the door slides open and he walks in. Stops when he sees her. She stares back, mouth too dry to form words, her brain too befuddled.

“You should be asleep,” he says, voice soft.

She works her tongue and swallows. “Couldn't. Where have you _been_?”

He shakes his head and comes over. She moves into his arms with alarming eagerness, curling into the warmth of his body. His hands scorch her skin and she shivers.

“You're freezing,” Baal says then and pulls the cover higher. “Why are you so cold?”

She rests her forehead on his shoulder. He smells of musk and spice and something lighter she can never identify. Just him, she supposes.

“You weren't here,” she says, the only explanation she has. The truth of it terrifies her more than a whole armada of Ori ships.

Because being in his arms is like coming home.


	6. In The Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking what he wants is second nature, being given it is something else.

Gold light flickers shifting shadows across the room. It catches in her hair, haloing her head and sheens over her sweat-dampened skin. Darkness gathers in her navel, between her legs. In the hollow of her back as she arches on a moan, the sheet twisted tight in her hands.

His name spills from her lips. Her body seeks his touch, trembles beneath it. Warms under his palm, moistens at the brush of his fingertips.

She is alabaster and gold, like a statue of the goddess she should be. But living, breathing, and desperate for his worship. His hands skim her flesh with reverence and a growing need to lose himself within her heated walls.

It is a hunger that obliterates every other desire, and his senses hang in the moment. His lips press against pale skin and she moans, mutters an oath, demands him now.

He is happy to oblige.

Her flesh yields to him, but there is no need to force her: she is more than willing. Taking what he wants is second nature, but being gifted it... he has no words to describe how that feels. So he presses in deeply, filling her with himself, and covers her mouth with his own.

She grips him now, nails digging into his shoulders. Pain sparks pleasure and he growls, plunges in deeper. Her cry shatters aganist the walls, breaking into a thousand pieces that fall around him like rain.

The play of light shifts as they breathe as one, hard and heavy, gasping as he takes her higher, higher. She says his name again and again, a soft chant of want interspersed with pleas for harder, faster, more and please, please, oh God I'm going to...

When the wave hits her, it swamps him as well and he spills in hot and with a roar that comes from his soul. Collapses on her, boneless and sated, yet still wanting more. There is not time enough to claim her as much as he wants, as he needs. He burns with it, and having her only adds more fuel to the fire.

He is not sure if this is love. He denies his humanity, but she finds it with an ease that startles him. Pulls it from his darkness and into the light, and it frightens him to see what he has become. What she makes of him.

He knows he is not as good as she says he is. Only here, in this room, lit by inconsistent candles, where he can hide in the shifting shadows, afraid that she will see him for what he is.

Afraid that she will expose his heart and shatter his pretences.

Because if she is a statue of alabaster and gold, then he is hollow bronze with feet of clay, built on lies and an act he has played for so long that he isn't sure he can drop it.

He no longer really knows who he is, only that being with her somehow makes everything right, makes sense, makes him something more than myth and a whisper of a nightmare.

Recreates him in her image, perfect yet fallible.

Human.


	7. A Convenient Arrangement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All good things have to end, and eventually Sam has to go back to Earth.

All good things have to end, and eventually Sam has to go back to Earth. Her reception is as frosty as she feared. She can't stop the SFs arresting Baal and dragging him down to the infirmary for testing – she's too busy being bombarded with questions and accusations from an infuriated General Landry.

Panic surges when Area 51 is mentioned. She bites her bottom lip as Malcolm Barrett discusses Baal's impending incarceration, unable to contemplate being separated but not sure how to get around the problem.

“What if you release him into my custody?” she says without thinking. The men stop and stare at her. “I can guarantee his behaviour.”

Malcolm shakes his head in disbelief, but the general's eyes narrow.

“Can you now? And exactly how are you doing to do that?”

Sam stands very still. “He... respects me, sir. He knew if he came here that there'd be hell to pay, but he came away. He has nothing to gain and everything to offer in terms of understanding Goa'uld and Ancient technology.” She takes a deep breath. “Just because we've defeated the Replicators and the Ori that doesn't mean the galaxy is any less dangerous. We could still use his intelligence.”

“The IOA can get that out of him,” Malcolm remarks sourly. Sam glares at him.

“It would be better to get it willingly.”

Landry sighs. “You're really willing to stand there and be Baal's advocate? Either he's brainwashed you or... you honestly think he's changed enough to be trusted.”

Sam looks from him to Malcolm, who wears a look of bitter disappointment, and back. Her nails dig into her palms in an attempt to keep calm.

“It's the latter, sir. Permission to speak freely?”

“Go ahead.”

“Sir, if you send Baal to Area 51 then... look, he's better, but he's still Baal. He's going to try and escape. I'm the only one who has any chance at keeping him in line, so it's best for everyone if he stays here.”

“Colonel...”

“I can't guarantee his behaviour anywhere else.”

Landry sighs. “He has six weeks probation. And _one_ warning, colonel – the first major incident and I will ship him to Area 51 and that's final.”

It was better than she'd hoped. “Thank you, sir.”

“Go and tell him the good news.”

She flees the general's office and down the levels to the infirmary where Baal is undergoing a thorough physical. She hears his protests halfway down the corridor and bolts to the door.

“This is very unnecessary,” he is saying. “My symbiote keeps me in perfect physical health.”

“That might be,” comes Caroline's voice, “but there is always the chance your carrying something without being effected. Oh, hi Sam.”

“Caroline,” she replies and looks at Baal, sat on a bed with a blue sheet maintaining his modesty. “Behave yourself – I've just won you a six week pass.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Really? However did you manage _that_?”

“I played on your intelligence.” She wanders over and adjusts a sensor pad attached to his chest. It's really just an excuse to touch him. “But Malcolm is itching to get you to Area 51 and there's probably dissection in there somewhere, so you need to behave.” She meets his eyes. “Please.”

“I'll try my best,” he says and offers her a small smile. She leans in and kisses him

Caroline coughs and they pull apart. Sam notes his cheeks are as flushed as hers feel.

“Okay, I think I've run every test applicable.” She eyes them with mock severity. “Do I need to test you, Colonel?”

Sam blushes further and ducks her head. “Um...”

“I thought as much. Come on.”

It doesn't take long. Sam isn't surprised – though rather grateful – that everything comes back clear. Especially the pregnancy test since that would be cause all kinds of trouble. In all honesty, she's not even considered that possibility: something she raises the second they're alone.

“Could I have been?”

He blinks. “Could you have what?”

“Been pregnant.” She watches him turn and smirk. Her stomach drops. “ _Really_?”

“I am in perfect working order, Samantha. Assuming that you are as well, yes, you could have been.”

She isn't sure if she's relieved at dodging a bullet or disappointed she's not carrying his child. “Oh.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Yes! No! Oh, God I have no idea.” She really doesn't. “Didn't it occur to you to let me know?”

“Did it occur to you to _ask_?”

It does take two to tango, she supposes with a sigh. “No, but it should have. Things are complicated enough without that happening.”

“Ah,” he says and shrugs his eyebrows before grabbing his shirt off the chair. Sam watches him pull it over his head – he never bothers with buttons when he can avoid it – and wonders what he meant by that.

“Were you... trying?” she asks and he looks at her. “It's a fair question!”

He shakes his head. “No, Samantha. In all honesty, it didn't cross my mind any more that it crossed yours. We were... caught up in the moment, I suppose.”

“What about now?”

“Would I try? Not... particularly. As you said, things are rather complicated right now.”

One thing at a time, she thinks.

“There was something I was going to ask, before you dropped that little bomb in my lap, but I'm rather afraid you'll take it the wrong way.”

“Just tell me, Samantha.” He sits on the edge of the bed and folds his arms. “Clearly we have to work on our communication.”

She takes the next bed, needing a little distance for this. “I was thinking about the six week trial. I don't think the IOA will hold to it and that we ought to do something before they can make a move.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “Such as what?”

“Such as a green card.”

Sam _knows_ he knows what she's talking about, and stares at his knees because she doesn't want to see the expression on his face. As proposals go, it was hardly romantic, but this about practicality and not losing him to Area 51.

“Have you thought that through?” he asks. “I'm not sure I can ask you to do that.”

“You didn't ask,” she points out and looks at him. His face is pensive, tense. “I offered.”

“Assuming the IOA would allow it.”

“I wasn't planning on giving them a choice.” She heaves a breath and confesses, “I'm not willing to lose you, Baal.”

“I have no intention of getting lost.”

“So?”

He stares at her for a moment, then a small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “No.”

She blinks. “No? But it would be-”

“A convenient arrangement.” He waves a hand. “And I would be accused of taking advantage of you, of using you. No, Samantha. I cannot and will not agree to this.”

She tries to pretend his rejection doesn't hurt, but it does. She stares at the floor.

“Well, I guess that shoots that idea down. I didn't think you'd find it so... repulsive.”

“I didn't think you'd be bothered about carrying my child.”

She jolts. “I wasn't! It just... That's not fair.”

“Neither is expecting me to marry you to keep me out of the IOA's hands. That is the very last reason I'd want to.”

“Is there a first?”

He chuckles and stands up. She twists away from him as he leans over her, but he just laughs again and captures her chin with firm fingers. She reluctantly turns back and fixes him with a hot-eyed glare.

“Yes,” he says. “There is.” And kisses her on the mouth.

Her anger and hurt melt like snow and she sags into his arms, tongue battling his in a clinch that heats by the second. His hand slides under her top and she know they can't. Not here.

Jerking back, she gasps, “Oh, don't.”

“Why not?”

She can't answer him, because she's met his steady gaze and those brown eyes tell her everything she needs to hear. She wonders how the hell they came to this, worlds colliding in a riot of confusion that only they understand when no one else does. Or can.

It's utterly fucked up, but still so right that she wants to laugh at the absurdity, or cry at the hopelessness. Instead she says his name and throws herself into his embrace.

“I'll behave,” he promises and his voice is low, rough. “I won't give them a reason to separate us. We have some time to figure this out yet, Sam. Don't... we shouldn't rush in blind, because I'm afraid you'll end up hurt or disappointed.”

“You could never hurt me.” She lifts her head and cups his cheek. “I know that. But... yeah. I was panicking and rushing at the first solution that presented itself. Not that I would _mind_ , you know.”

“Curiously, I find myself as open to the idea. Maybe because it would give me unlimited access to you .”

“You're insatiable, you know that right?”

“I want you.” His confession makes her shudder. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“Yes,” she breathes. “Because we can't. Not here and I wish we were somewhere else. Somewhere we could.”

“Is there _nowhere_ unguarded and unwatched?”

She thinks about it, then laughs. “Actually yes. And you know where.”

His eyebrows shoot up and he grins. “Oh really? How... apt. Shall we?”

“Yes.”

Oh, they shall indeed.


	8. Belong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Baal in a storeroom...

The storeroom is as grey as Baal remembered it, but he's not here to debate aesthetics. He shuts the door by slamming Sam up against it. She gasps and her eyes widen and he wonders if that was a little too rough, but then she grins and drags his head down.

Her kiss is fierce and her free hand works open the button on his trousers. If he did hurt her, it's not particularly obvious.

“How long-” He chokes as her hand slips inside his boxers. “How long before our absence is noticed?”

“Caroline probably already has,” she breathes, neck arched to allow him better access. “But I think she'll cover for us.”

“So?”

“Ten minutes?”

He groans. “How am I supposed to do _anything_ in ten minutes?”

“You _could_ start by talking less.” She shoves him away and sets to undoing his shirt buttons. “And doing _more_.”

Chuckling, he puts her point into practise and hauls her tank top over her head. It musses her hair, but he has every intention of messing it up further. He pulls her to him and she giggles softly.

“Better?” he murmurs and then claims her mouth in a hungry kiss. She moans and wraps her arms around his neck, reciprocating as if her life depends on it. He shudders. “ _Sam_.”

“Shut. Up.” She scuffs a hand over his hair. “Just... ohh, just fuck me.”

“How could I possibly resist such a polite request?” Baal pushes her back with a grin. “Turn around. Hands against the door.”

Her eyes snap wide, then she gives him a sly smile. “Like that, is it?” she laughs and spins on her heel. He watches her stretch up and roll her shoulders before she stands a foot or so away from the door and puts her hands flat against it.

Even that is enough to make him hard and he needs to get inside her. He walks over and runs a hand down her spine, hearing the hitch in her breathing. He smirks and unhooks her bra, easing the cups up and off her breasts. Her nipples are stiff peaks.

“Cold?” he asks.

She tosses him a quick smile. “No, aroused. _Will_ you hurry up?”

“Impatience is not a feminine trait, my sweet.” But he undoes her trousers and pushes them over her hips. They pool around her feet, preventing her from parting her legs more than their circumference. “A little further back. I want you bent over more.”

He guides her hips until she's where he wants her. Caressing her back and sides, he revels in the smooth skin and the way she trembles at his touch. Her position leaves her nicely exposed and he teases her with a finger.

“Baal,” she says, a heavy whisper he suspects was supposed to sound more severe than it did. “We don't have ti-” She hiccups as he plunges two fingers in deeply, then shudders hard.

“You are so wet,” he notes, smirking at her eagerness. “Always so ready.”

She moans and her fingers arch as she tries to dig her nails into the door, but it's not his skin and doesn't give. The screeching scrape hurts his teeth, but he doesn't tell her that, just slips his fingers out and his cock in and she is hot and wet and pulsing already. It's not going to take much, but then he's not likely to be that far behind her.

Not this time, because he's wanted this since the last time they were shut in these four walls, her fear a copper taste on the air. He can remember the glint of light on her hair as she shifted just enough to cast a sideways glance, eyes dark with anger.

Or so he had thought.

“Have you dreamt of this?” he asks, sliding almost out and then back in on a breathy sigh that could be her or his or somewhere in between. “Did you think of this then?”

She shakes her head, blond hair catching the dim light, pulling his memory back. He remembers the smell of her: shampoo and deodorant and nervous sweat.

“What do you think?” she manages. Her back arches as he pushes in deep and she groans. “I was never sure to be relieved you didn't forced me or disappointed that you were so fixed on your plan that you ignored me.”

“I have never-” He grunts as his cock knocks something solid within her. “Ignored you. And I would not have... forced you.”

“I know that now and _oh God_ , yes just. Like. That.”

“There?”

“Hmm. Harder.”

He closes his eyes with a muted groan: there's nothing sexier than her demanding more of him.

He slams in and her hands skid over the door. Pressing her up tight, he curls an arm around her waist and holds her in place as he rams in over and over. She whimpers and he feels her muscles clench around him.

A handful of hair and he pulls her head back, angling it. It's awkward but he arches in and covers her mouth. Swallows her cry as she comes.

She sinks to the floor and he follows her down, kneeling on the hard floor and gathering her trembling body to his chest. Kisses her deeply and she drapes an arm around his neck.

When he comes up for air, she murmurs, “Yes.”

He blinks. “Sorry, what?”

“Yes, I dreamt about it afterwards.” Her cheeks colour and she won't meet his eyes. “Nice girls don't admit to rape fantasies,” she grumbles. “It was your fault.”

“How so?”

“You said you wouldn't kill me and I knew why. Even though I was afraid of what you would do, I still felt a thrill.”

Baal smirks and strokes sweat-dampened hair off her face. “And why was that?”

“Because you wanted me.” Her eyes lift and meet his. “And I wanted you.”

He chuckles. “You hated me.”

“Oh yes,” she confesses, voice cheerful. “Absolutely. But I admired your audacity. Amongst other things.”

“Did you now? You hid it well. I remember you gloating about the symbiote posion. I could have died, then.”

A shadow flickers across her face. “I know. I can't apologise for what we did then, but things have changed.”

“Indeed they have.” He sighes. “Talking of changes, we should get dressed and back to the infirmary before Doctor Lam becomes concerned for your well-being.”

She groans. “Protection.”

He winces, but he has to tell her the truth. “Isn't actually necessary. It wasn't a complete lie – I can get you pregnant if you wanted, but... it's sort of a conscious decision.”

She stares. “Symbiotic birth control?”

“Yes. One hundred percent proof.”

He's not sure how she'll take that, but she looks thoughtful rather than annoyed and finally she smirks at him.

“Handy.”

“I thought so.”

Sam laughs and ruffles his hair. “I think I'll keep you,” she says with a smile. Then slips from his arms and repairs the damage.

Soon the only way he can tell she's had a good fucking is her mussed hair and kiss-plumped cheeks. He grins at her and puts himself back together.

“So,” he says as they slip into the corridor and she closes the door. “Are there any other storerooms on the SGC we should try out?”

Her laughter echoes, bright and clear, and she doesn't seem at all bothered by the looks that she gets. And he is proud to be seen at her side.

It is, after all, where he belongs.


	9. Normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baal's been living with Sam for six weeks, in which she's discovered a few little quirks - and a liking for pancakes. With _lots_ of syrup.

Soft yellow light washes through Sam's kitchen window. She pauses in her breakfast making to watch the sun inch higher. The sky is blue with only a handful of fluffy clouds and it looks set to be a beautiful day. She smiles and hums along with the radio.

One thing she's learn in the past six weeks is that Baal is _not_ a morning person. He wakes grumpy and even more sarcastic than he is usually and there's always the small risk of small explosions or broken crockery. But she's learnt the one thing that will bring him round and it doesn't even take that much.

Pancakes are cooking on the griddle.

He'll have them smothered in enough maple syrup to account for a mid-sized forest and just like that her grizzly bear will become a contended cat and nothing will be reduced to naquadah-laced rubble.

She hears him long before he emerges. Her smile widens at a low mutter in Goa'uld – she's not sure what it translates as and is quite happy in her ignorance – then jolts at a crash.

There's a long, tense silence, then his rather apologetic voice floats down the corridor. “Sorry.”

Rolling her eyes, she calls back, “You're cleaning that up.”

He appears at the doorway, bleary-eyed and adorably dishevelled, and she wonders if she'll ever get used to seeing this side of him. She smiles at him, but he's too busy rubbing at his face. He meanders over, brightening a little as he takes in the griddle.

“Hm, pancakes.”

He sidles up behind her and nuzzles at her neck. She squeaks at the rub of stubble and his chuckle rumbles all the way to her soles. She bats him on the arm with her spatula.

“That prickles! Get _off_.”

“Spoilsport.” He leans his chin on her shoulder. “Are those nearly ready? I'm starving.”

Sam rolls her eyes and points at the table. “Go sit down. I'll be with you in a moment.”

He pats her ass and tosses her a smirk as he does as he's told. She shakes her head and tries to concentrate, but she's distracted by his curiously good mood.

“So what did you break?” she asks him.

Guilt washes over his face. “It was an _accident_.”

“Baal.”

“The lamp on the nightstand.” He winces as she glares at him. “I didn't mean to. I...” Two spots of colour flare on his cheeks, startling her. “It was an accident,” he mutters.

Grumpy and clumsy, huh, who knew? Sam hides a smile and turns out the last pancake, taking a plateful and the bottle of syrup over to the table.

“We can always get another I suppose,” she sighs, then gives him a steady look. “Did you hurt yourself?”

“I'm fine.”

“Ah.” She doubts even a symbiote can heal damaged pride. She pushes the bottle towards him. “Here, eat up. You're always better once you've gotten some sugar in your system.”

The amount of syrup he puts on makes her teeth ache. Propping her chin on one hand, she watches him devour – and there is no other word for it – his breakfast. Each movement is crisp and neat, and it takes all his intention. She figures he'd not even notice a bomb going off.

She actually sees when his blood sugar levels out: tension drops out of his shoulders and the fork slows. After a moment, he lifts his head and meets her amused gaze.

“What?” he asks around a mouthful, his eyebrows drawing together. “Something amusing you, Samantha?”

“Hm, yes. You. I've never seen anyone attack breakfast like you do.”

“I'm _hungry_ ,” he says, tone a protest. “And since I'm not allowed the regenerative properties of a sarcophagus...”

Sam suppresses a shudder. “No.”

“Then I need to keep my energy levels up.” He smirks. “Especially since you are so determined to deplete them.”

“I could stop that, if you wanted.”

“Don't you dare.”

Laughing at him, she pushes up from the table and goes to collect the mail. Six weeks and they've settled into a routine, normal, domesticated. Every so often, it catches her unawares and she wonders how, when he's a Goa'uld and an ex-System Lord, and she is supposed to be on the team that's taking them down.

But he's long stopped being that sort of threat, though she doubts he's fully tamed. She doesn't want him to be, either.

“Anything interesting?” he asks as she shuffles through the envelops. She knows what he means by that.

“I wouldn't have thought-” She gets no further – there's one marked with a presidential seal of all things and she looks up at him, hardly daring to move. “Crap.”

“I suggest that you open it before reaching a conclusion, Sam.”

She swallows and slides a finger under the flap, pulls out a single sheet of paper. There's something about protocol and mention of constraints, but she only gets as far as “not an immediate threat” and “unnecessary supervision” before bursting into tears of utter relief.

Baal snatches the letter from her hand and reads it once, twice, then gives her a puzzled look. “Why ever are you crying? This is good, is it not?”

“It's brilliant,” she sniffs and dries her eyes. “Sorry, but that's been hanging over us for six weeks. I really thought the IOA will haul you in regardless.”

“Like hell they would.” His expression is fierce. “I've done everything they asked, answered every question as well as I could.”

“I know but-”

“They would have to _kill_ me before-”

He stops and looks away. Sam frowns.

“Before what?” she presses, gently. He stabs at the last pancake. “Baal?”

“It's not for the love of _pancakes_ that I have behaved myself,” he grouses.

Warmth fills her and she reaches out for his hand. It's clenched tight and she sweeps her thumb over white knuckles. His eyes flicker up to her face and then down again. His lips twitch into the briefest of smiles and then he hitches a shoulder.

“As you know,” he adds somewhat belatedly.

“I do.”

Pulling her hand back, she picks up the bottle. A bead of syrup is threatening to run down the side. She catches it with her forefinger and tastes the rich sweetness. Looking up, she finds him watching her and so sucks her finger again. He swallows hard.

“I think-” Her voice emerges husky and she has to cough to clear her throat. “I think we should celebrate. Preferably by... ah, depleting your energy reserves again. Maybe...” She toys with the bottle. “Maybe if you like your pancakes sweet, and you love those almost as much as you do me, then maybe...”

She leaves him to reach the right conclusion, which he does because he is that intelligent after all. His smirk is downright wicked and she's very glad that the IOA doesn't see it.

Then again, the only thing in danger of incinerating right now is her, because the look he gives her burns in her veins and heats her skin.

“Whatever plans you had for today, I suggest you cancel them.” Baal rises smoothly and holds out a hand. “I'm commandeering your entire day, Samantha. Bring snacks.”

It's not normal, and probably won't ever be, but normal is dull.

Baal very definitely isn't, and it turns out that pancakes aren't the only things he loves smothered in syrup.


End file.
